Good Acting
by Hoperise
Summary: Campbell's not doing his show tonight and Eddy wants to know why. Campbell isn't just manic: what goes up must come down.


Summary: Campbell's not doing his show tonight and Eddy wants to know why. Campbell isn't just manic: what goes up must come down.

Genre: Drama/Angst

Rated for language and themes

* * *

"Something tells me that your speakers might be silent tonight."

Isabel caught sight of Eddie's grumpy trudge halfway down the hall, dark eyes chastening gently.

For a Friday evening, St. Jude's was unusually subdued. Even in his post-shift haze, Eddie could tell that something was a bit off on the ward. Rosalie knelt by the nurse's station, scouring the baseboards like they'd talked about her mother. Ever the recluse, Mad John the Pyromaniac stood vigil in the corridor, glaring at passersby.

The television was off, always an oddity. The last time that had happened must have been when Fergus dismantled it to get the patients to pay attention to Eddie's radio show. The silence of the television screen only highlighted the peculiar stillness, the lethargy which had settled on the ward.

Nevertheless, Eddie wasn't sure he could bring himself to sort out the odd behaviour. Not tonight. From the soles of his feet clear through his thighs, his legs were a great throbbing ache. He'd abandoned his overcoat in the car. His suit was rumpled; his hair a fright. He wouldn't say no to a bit of liquid courage to unwind from a fruitless day of pounding the pavement.

Although, depending on the decibel range Campbell chose to occupy today, he might need more than just a bit of fortification.

A smug grin played across Eddie's face as he pictured anyone attempting to keep the teenager from his so-called fiancée, the mixer. "Oh, aye? Why's that?"

Pushing up the sleeves of her purple cardigan, Isabel pursed her lips. She pulled open the filing cabinet by the nurse's station and began tucking manila folders inside. "Campbell's had a bad day."

Eddie scoffed. "I had a bad day. Lost two sales and got chucked out of somebody's yard."

The nurse rolled her eyes and shut the drawer with more force than necessary. "Typical salesman. Never listens, just waits for you to stop talking."

"Easy!" He recoiled automatically, tightening his grip on his suitcase.

"Well? Honestly, Eddie, how many times has Campbell told you - he has an actual illness! He's fighting a battle you know nothing about. Campbell's bad days aren't like yours. His victories are often invisible, and his defeats are quite public." Isabel paused her sorting to give him a withering glance. Unable to sustain it for long, her shoulders slumped and she sighed. "And today was just hard."

Eddie fidgeted, nostrils flaring as he tried to defend himself without sounding, well, defensive. "I thought he was manic!"

The nurse tilted her head towards him and smiled kindly, acknowledging that Eddie was an idiot. "Aye, Campbell's manic-_depressive_. You've seen the one side. This is the other. You can see him, though, if his great guard dog will let you through."

Slinking by with his tail between his legs, Eddie maneuvered the corridors towards the empty doorframe that marked his friend's room.

As expected, Fergus' massive form blocked the hall. The long-haired engineer folded his arms over his chest and stood with his feet spread and shoulders back. Predictably, the silver handle of a spanner poked from his hip pocket. Yet his face was sad, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Thought you'd have ducked out by this time of night." Eddie greeted teasingly, eyes flicking to the room beyond.

Shrugging slightly, Fergus remained in the way. "Campbell needed me."

Eddie shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Can I see him?"

"He's in a bad way." Fergus replied in a low tone, casting an anxious glance into their shared room. "Keeps talkin' bout sockets, when he does talk. Mostly he just sits there."

"Well, I think I know one thing that might cheer him up." The salesman said, forcing a grin.

Fergus raised a challenging eyebrow, but moved aside.

The furniture had been moved about, pushed to cover the outlets. Everything not bolted to the floor had been shoved toward the doorframe. Campbell's wardrobe had exploded on his bed. Stray linens and renegade socks spilled onto the floor, blocking much of the room from view.

Once Eddie ventured beyond the barricade, he caught sight of the gangly teenager. Campbell was huddled in the back corner with his legs tucked up against him. The oversized grey jumper had made a reappearance, the excessive fabric dwarfing even his lanky frame. His spine hunched over at an unnatural angle that made Eddie's back twinge in sympathy. His head rested in his hands, long fingers raking divots in his hair. Campbell was silent, and he was trembling.

Eddie wasn't sure which disturbed him more.

"Campbell? It's me, Eddie. I'm here to shadow for your show." He said, setting his suitcase down.

Campbell made no sign that he'd heard.

"Campbell? It's quarter to - best get a move on if you want to be lead DJ tonight." Eddie said in a low voice, approaching as he would a frightened animal.

A muffled sob shook the teenager's thin shoulders. He murmured something incomprehensible into his knees.

Eddie frowned, shrugging his jacket off and setting it on the bed. He sat down on the floor, his knees cracking with appreciation. "What was that? Campbell, you'll have to speak up."

Light brown hair whirled as Campbell's head snapped up to face him. His face was flushed with crimson, forehead criss-crossed with angry scratches and half-moon imprints from scraping his nails across his scalp over and over. His eyes were puffy and red; his cheeks lined with tracks that had dried and washed away and dried again.

Campbell's voice was a strangled whisper, eyes wide with fear. "Sockets, Eddie. I cannae go in the studio. It's fulla sockets."

The older man blinked, raising an eyebrow. "'Course it is, we've got all that electrical equipment. We need the sockets. You've got sockets in here, too."

Long legs kicked out and he drove his sneakers against the flooring, pushing himself further back against the wall. "Aye, but these ones are safe. I made them safe. All covered up - there's nothing dangerous in here." His reply was hoarse and uncertain, chest heaving with deliberately even breaths.

"There's nothing dangerous out there, either. They're just sockets, Campbell. They cannae hurt you. Come on, let's get out and do the show. You'll like that." Eddie said, reaching out a hand to place on Campbell's shoulder.

To his shock, the young man lurched back as though the contact would burn him. "No!" He shouted, then clamped a hand over his mouth. Now visible in the muted light from the hall, Eddie noted that Campbell's knuckles were covered with tiny indentations, like he'd been biting them to keep quiet.

With a fearful glance toward the nurse's station, Campbell pressed himself further into the corner and repeated in a softer tone, "No. I can't. I can't, I can't do it. I can't leave. The studios fulla sockets. And plugs. And metal. And sharp objects. And a window that _opens_. D'you know how easy it'd be for me to grab a screwdriver off the table and jam it in a socket? Then what'd happen to your precious equipment?" He shook his head in a tornado of brown hair, wringing his hands. His voice broke as he finished, "I'm safe here."

Eddie's eyes widened as he grasped the alternate meaning to his young friend's words. It wasn't the sockets he was afraid of - it was himself. "Campbell, do you want me to fetch a doctor?"

Campbell shook his head, pressing his lips together. "They'd wanna sedate me. Right now, I know my own mind. I'm in control. I'll be okay - I only need to stay here." He wrapped long arms tight around his middle and leaned forward. His voice came whisper-soft. "Don't take that away from me, Eddie."

"No, of course not." He replied gently. He reached a hand out again, then thought better and folded his hands over his ample stomach. The older man fidgeted, not knowing how best to be useful. "D'you want me to do the show for you?"

From underneath long strands of hair, Campbell replied, "No. Just want some peace."

Eddie pursed his lips, brows knit with worry. "D'you want me to leave?"

"No."

"D'you want me to shut up?"

A brief pause, then a quiet reply. "No."

An exasperated sound escaped Eddie's lips. "Shite, mate, what happened to you? You were doing fine yesterday!"

Thin shoulders heaved with surpressed sobs, which settled into hiccoughs. At last, Campbell looked up once more. He drew a long breath and managed, "Da' came to visit this morning."

He groaned. "Not that bastard again."

Campbell's face split into a too-wide grin and he let slip a slightly hysterical laugh. A fleck of spit flew down his chin, which he hastily wiped away. "Aye, that bastard."

"What did he have to say?"

Brown eyes swam with tears and overflowed, connecting freckles one to another. "Mum an' Da', they're giving up on me. Had me sectioned; just wanna let the doctors handle me from now on. I've got no home with them anymore."

They sat there in the dark, waiting for the hitch in Campbell's breathing to slow.

Eddie worried his lower lip against his teeth, trying to come up with an appropriate response. Somehow, there weren't words that would make this alright. He took a breath, not sure what he would say, but before he could attempt a response Campbell spoke up again.

"You know why I love Rosalie so much? She's terrified that somebody's gonna catch a germ and die, so she goes around disinfectin' everything to try and protect us all. Tryin' to save everybody. On nights when I can't slow down enough to sleep some nights, I go around cleaning with her."

He nibbled his thumbnail distantly, eyes hidden behind disheveled waves. "She calls me her son's name every now and then. I don't mind. She's more of a mother to me than mine ever was."

In the wreckage of everything Campbell had brought with him to St. Jude's and everything he'd acquired since then, they sat and mourned the loss of his youth. From above, it looked as though the teen had emptied every drawer of his possessions and strewn them about at random. But from the floor, Eddie had a better perspective. From the floor, he could tell Campbell had built himself a fortress inside which he could discreetly fall apart.

At last, words sprung to his chafed lips. But they weren't the words of compassion he'd cleverly intended. Instead, Eddie blurted out, "I thought you were doing better -I thought you were just playing to fool your Da' so he wouldnae take you to Perth!"

"Aye," Campbell said, his big brown eyes impossibly sad beneath curtains of hair. He sniffed heavily and forced his face into a grin that trembled only slightly.

"Good acting, eh?"

* * *

I didn't feel the need to force a happy ending on this. I felt like showing the other side of Campbell's struggle. Hopefully I did it with dignity and respect.

Reviews accepted to fund St. Jude's Hospital Radio. Please deposit in your nearest collection tin.

Also, please feel free to britpick. I hail from the True North, Strong and Free.

As always,

**Don't write the story. Live the story.**


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